“Not on purpose. It slipped out while we were discussing sponsorships for her line.”
That sounds suspiciously like Tess.
He pushes off the wall and takes a step closer to me. He’s so far away. The space that usually feels small suddenly stretches miles wide.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I set my camera on a side table. My fingers are no longer steady.
“I wanted to tell you to you face to face, but you’ve been so busy.”
He nods, knowing, and takes another step.
“The second she said you were here, I had to come. I needed to see you.” Another step with an inhale. “You look really good.”
“So do you.”
“I look tired.”
He does. There are faint shadows under his eyes. His hair’s a little longer, and he smells like flour, oil, and the kitchen.
And he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’ve been busy.”
“I missed you,” he says.
No jokes.
No cushioning.
Just the truth, straight to my chest.
“Every day. No matter what I was hurried in, you were there. In the back of my head.”
“I missed you too,” I whisper. “So much.”
He steps closer. One step. Then another. Slow.
“So you didn’t tell me because you’re not interested in pursuing this?”
“What? No.” I clear my throat. “No. I almost told you a hundred times.”
“A hundred times?” Another step.
“I had this whole speech planned,” I say.
“Mm.” His forehead rests against mine. “And?”
“It’s gone.” My hands fist in his jacket.
“Good,” he breathes, and oh, how I’ve missed this man.
Then his hand slides to my waist, and his mouth finds mine. It’s warm enough to melt every tight place inside my chest.
I sink into him, and every late-night call, text, and second apart folds back together.
He tastes the same, feels the same, and his real scents hit me: smoky cedar, pepper, and him.
